BloodFire
by Lia Bates
Summary: A book about a young Herald with elemental powers. Please R&R. (Not a book for people who are destirbed by murder and mayhem) [COMPLETED]
1. Chapter 1

BloodFire  
  
Disclaimer: Anything referring to the land of Valdemar or the heralds is the creation of Mercedes Lackey, and I can take no credit for it.  
  
This story is based in the land of Valdemar, during the reign of the co- consorts Arden and Leesa. The Monarch's Own was recently killed in a battle against Karse, and his companion, Deilan, has not chosen a replacement.  
  
Chapter 1  
  
*  
  
The breezes fluttered around her skirts as Liara walked slowly down the track to the village. The tame winds that curled around her made the heavy dress almost as cool as her leggings would have done, but soon she would have to dismiss them and surrender to the dry summer heat. Having her clothes flutter in a localized wind would cause great suspicion among the villagers. She stopped at the tiny inn and brought the bread she had been sent for, supplying the innkeeper in exchange with the two fat pigeons that she had caught that morning in the forest.  
  
"Your father's a good shot with the bird-arrows, girl." Brad told her, hefting the neatly speared fowl. Liara hid a grimace. The villagers would not be pleased if they discovered that she was hunting all the game.  
  
She swung the canvas sack onto her back, and blotted perspiration from her forehead with one hand, sweeping her black hair out of her eyes. She walked out again into the dust and heat looking forward to changing into her much more comfortable leggings when she reached the stone house that was her home.  
  
She walked past the inn's only guest on the way out, and shuddered as the man gazed at her. She felt a tendril of thought, like befouled, mouldy water brush her as she hurried away.  
  
That man gave her the creeps. He always seemed to be watching her, for some sign that she was not being a properly demure Karsite girl. The decided expression on his face today made her heart quail, but she pulled herself together. She was just being paranoid. She had no reason to think that anyone had found out that she and her family all practiced magic.  
  
She had reached the large stone house. It was built on a hill, far away from the villagers and their prying eyes. The thought of what would happen if people found out about her family chilled her to the bone.  
  
Her parents had originally been mercenaries in Rethwellan, but had gotten separated from their company during an unsuccessful fight. The two had decided that rather than to risk death at the hands of border guards, that they would settle down in Karse and make a life for themselves.  
  
And so they had, using their mage gift and elemental gifts to build the comfortable home. But for all their complacence with their Karsite life, they were determined that they're daughter would not have to live in secrecy. So every day since she was five years old, she had been drilled in languages, weapons, her elemental magics, and the mind magics that she had. Her parents always seemed vaguely disappointed, but she had never shown even the potential of mage-gift.  
  
She stepped into the kitchen, mercifully cool, and placed the bread in the pantry. Her mother had a vegetable garden, and hunting supplied their meat, but they brought most of their other food from the village inn. Liara could hear the clash of steel from behind the house, and she smiled to herself. Her parents always trained daily, to keep in fighting trim, just like she was trained by her parents.  
  
Liara hurried swiftly upstairs and changed into the black leather leggings and matching tunic that she used for fighting practice. The clothes fitted her exactly, having been created out of carefully woven elemental magics, and were perfect for the movement that the heavy skirts prohibited. She also belted on the perfectly matched daggers that she herself had made, strapping one over each hip. She re-plaited her hair in a long black braid before trotting downstairs and out into the yard.  
  
Her parents were attired in clothing similar to her own, and each held a sword. Her mother wielded a thin, delicate rapier, while her father swung a heavier broadsword. Liara watched in admiration. While she herself had no aptitude for the sword, and no longer used the weapon, she could easily appreciate the dance that was being performed in front of her.  
  
It looked as though the battle would last a while yet, so she began to stretch as she waited. When she finished, she leaned against one cool stone wall and slapped one of her daggers into her hand as she waited.  
  
They were not really daggers. The matching weapons each had a blade easily two handspans long, and both were sharp enough to cut through stone. They were beautiful, Liara thought, as she watched the summer sunlight play on the silvery knives. The hilts of each were inlaid with gold wire, and a huge blue crystal was set through the precise centre of the hand guard. A prize for any thief, Liara thought, but any thief would get a surprise. She had made these knives from nothing, and each contained a wealth of elemental energies, energies which answered only to her. A thief who tried to take them would end up with a severely burned hand.  
  
Liara ran her fingers over the edge of the blade, reveling in the song of the sun warmed metal, and in the invigorating murmur of the magic in the knife. She sheathed the weapon reluctantly, and stared at her hand, marred now by a shallow, bloody cut stretching over her fingertips. She touched it gently with her healing gift and the cut closed, leaving only a streak of blood that she quickly wiped away.  
  
Her mother, Rianna, left the training area, shaking ungreyed blonde hair out of its plait. "Michel!" She called to her husband. "You can train Liara today. I'll make lunch for you two fighters."  
  
Michel grinned in reply, and led his daughter onto the yard. Liara smiled as well, and the battle began in earnest. Finally her father called a halt.  
  
"Enough!" He pushed sweaty black hair from his brown eyes as he resheathed his sword. "I can't let you beat me, so today's training is declared over."  
  
Liara smiled as she followed him back into the house. She looked like both her parents, with Rianna's sapphire blue eyes and her father's black hair. It gave her a striking appearance, and one she greatly enjoyed. Unfortunately, it also attracted notice - notice that she really did not want pushed in her direction. Her thoughts return uneasily to the polluted mindtouch she had felt earlier, but she pushed the memory away. Now was not the time.  
  
After Liara had finished eating her lunch, she took her hunting bow, and went into the nearby forest to search for game. They used up most of what they caught bartering with the village, so she hunted often.  
  
It was cooler underneath the tall trees, and she stopped to appreciate the shade, before proceeding deeper into the forest.  
  
She had picked up the prints of a rabbit, and was stealthily following with an arrow on the bow string when she began to feel uneasy. She stopped as the feeling grew, and she lowered her shields carefully. What she picked up with her empathy was enough to drop her bow and slam her shields back up.  
  
She had picked up fear, and a searing pain, which made her feel physically sick. And worse - it was coming from her house - and her family. She set off at a sprint, determined to find out what was wrong.  
  
She burst through the door, into the kitchen, and beheld a nightmare. Lying on the floor in front of her, still holding a sword in one flaccid fist, was the body of Michel, her father, open eyes staring unseeing at the ceiling, a sword wound through his heart. Beyond him Rianna was lying in a pool of blood with her throat cut.  
  
There were signs that they had put up a fight, bloody marks on the floor, and disarranged furniture, but Liara didn't notice as she knelt, grief blinding her with tears, on the bloodstained floor of the kitchen.  
  
But as she knelt there, a glassy wall seemed to surround her, taking control away from her. As Liara watched stupidly, her body stood, crying no longer, and walked out of the open door. She could see tracks on the dusty lane, of many people leaving her house. Some limped, and several bodies were being pulled, and Liara felt a feral grin stretching her lips. She started after the retreating murderers, ready to get her revenge.  
  
The group of witch hunters was below her, and she pulled all her rage and pain into a weapon, flinging it over the men below. They were people she knew, people she'd seen all her life, and she had to watch herself killing them, and feel their dying in her Empathy.  
  
All five elements raged supreme. Fire, lightening, earth, air, and water harried the men below as she smiled and screamed. The remaining witch hunters dropped their weapons, and ran to the village, the odious inn guest, who she now knew as an agent of the priests, among them. She followed, sending her maelstrom of hatred and rage to precede her.  
  
She entered the village, surrounded by screams. One villager frantically swung an improvised club at her, screaming a prayer to the Sunlord, and she casually stabbed him. Inside her head, Liara screamed, throwing herself against the barriers that surrounded her mind.  
  
Nothing she could do freed her from the prison of rage and grief that surrounded her, and she could only watch with horrified eyes as she killed and destroyed with her magic, and with her mind. She wept impotently as she killed babes in arms, and screamed as she slaughtered their families, but the killing went on.  
  
*  
  
Behind the inn, the witch hunter priest desperately saddled his horse, spurring it into a gallop that took him to the nearest temple of Vkandis, the Sunlord. This foul sorceress was surely aided by all the demons of hell itself, and he could not face her alone.  
  
*  
  
Liara wept inside her head, as she strolled into the village square, a grim smile stretching her face. Then the barriers that had kept her locked inside her mind vanished, and she fell to the ground, weeping until she could not see.  
  
All around her were people she had known - and she had murdered them! She had listened to their screams and done nothing. She could still feel the emotional echoes with her empathic gift - fifty people, hurting, dying. She could feel their screams, ripping her soul to shreds, killing her heart.  
  
She pushed the screams away, into a dark corner of her damaged soul, and with them pushed all the memories, and all the grief and pain, and locked them there. They left nothing behind, just an emptiness. No emotion touched her now, no feelings moved her. There was nothing in her except purpose.  
  
She drew one of her knives, noticing dully that it was smeared with blood, and she plunged it deep into the flesh above her elbow. She ripped it forward through her forearm and up to her wrist before drawing out the knife. She felt nothing but the purpose that had infected her as she clumsily gutted her right arm in the same manner. She resheathed the knife carefully, and stared at her ripped and bloodstained sleeve.  
  
She wondered vaguely whether she would be allowed into the Havens, but decided that it didn't matter. She had done what she had to do, clearing the world of a murderer by orchestrating her own death.  
  
Strange - at first there had been no feeling in her arms, but now there was a dull, persistent throb. Liara pulled back one torn sleeve to stare despairing at her forearm. No gaping wound met her eyes, but a livid, new healed scar.  
  
The knife she had used had been made from her own power, and would never end the life of its creator. She was a creature of elements, and the elements loved her. They would never kill her.  
  
It was a greater punishment than any of the Hells could have given her - to live on with a soul that was ripped and a heart that was dead.  
  
She knelt on the bloodstained earth, and called to all the gods for a surcease from pain, but there was no relief. She cursed all the gods into oblivion, but there was no retaliation. And to her dead heart and soul came the truth; that there were no gods, and there was no mercy.  
  
And there would never be forgiveness. 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2  
  
*  
  
As she sat, the skies darkened, and hoofbeats pounded along the road. Liara looked up, and saw a column of priests and soldiers, led by the witch hunter who had caused this all.  
  
She felt no anger. No pain, no grief. Her heart was dead within her.  
  
"Get the demonic bitch!" A voice screamed. It was the witch hunter, and soldiers tumbled from their saddles to obey. One planted his sword deep into her right shoulder, but she did not wince away. She deserved the pain, and besides, the metal of the blade felt soft inside her flesh, like a mental caress. Then the witch hunter rode towards her and thrust his sword towards her neck.  
  
But this sword was wrong. She couldn't feel the metal in her mind. It was a spear of slime - of polluted, mouldy water. She raised her left hand in a frail resistance, and the defiled blade pierced her palm.  
  
It hurt! It was polluted and foul. It was as though all the evil in the world had coated this blade with infectious filth. Swords never hurt her - no metal did. Earth was in her nature and it was welcomed. Wounds from sharp metal healed easily - her shoulder no longer even bled - but this filled her hand with infection that could not be removed with the sword.  
  
"Brecke, was that really necessary?" a voice asked mildly as the soldiers bound her hands tightly behind her. Liara looked up and saw that it was a Voice of Vkandis - one of the most powerful priests in Karse.  
  
"Yes, Honoured One." replied Brecke, the witch hunter. "I did not want her able to retaliate, Honoured One."  
  
"Brecke, that comment calls into light a distressing lack of faith!" the Voice informed him sharply. "Divine Vkandis watches us, and he will protect us from the demon sorceress." The shamed Brecke murmured something appropriate, and the Voice looked at the column of men. "Build a bonfire." He ordered. "I will see her cleansed in the fires of the Sunlord here and now!"  
  
A pile of wood was gathered, and a minor priest coated much of the wood with "holy" oil. Liara was dragged, unprotesting, to the wood and tied tightly to an upright post in the middle. The fire was lit, and Liara was soon surrounded by walls of flame.  
  
She could have put it out with a single thought, but she let the flames press close to her skin, covering it in burning caresses. The ropes that bound her burnt away at once, but her clothes, made as they were by elemental magic, remained as intact and unburned as her skin.  
  
Then the fire found her hand, still bloody and infected by the evil sword. The fire yearned to join with her, and dived in the wound. The fire found the infection that polluted the blood, and burned it away, taking over her hand in a blaze of bloody fire.  
  
Liara screamed at the unbearable pain. She could no longer feel anything from her hand except the burning, searing touch of the BloodFire in her flesh.  
  
She screamed and screamed and screamed - and heard, dimly, echoes to her screaming from the priests and soldiers outside of the bonfire. Then, suddenly, the fire quenched, and she stared into the blue eyes of a large horse.  
  
No - not a horse, it's a Companion, from Valdemar, like mother told me of -  
  
The Companion stared at her, a silver forelock falling into those huge eyes, and she stared back, feeling lost in the warmth and love he offered.  
  
She pushed him away. She didn't deserve the unconditional love he offered, she couldn't deal with letting him replace her dead parents, and knew that, if she let him, he would give up every thing trying to help her.  
  
There was an echo of the pain she felt in his eyes. :I am Deilan, and I Choose you. I love you always, even if you will not accept my love. Now get on, and ride away with me!:  
  
On her own, she would not have gone with him. She would have walked away from the love which threatened to free the pain she had imprisoned, and would not have let him help her. But the big eyes touched her mind, and she found herself climbing, unthinking, onto the black and silver saddle, and holding on as he galloped away.  
  
As she sat on Deilan's back as he galloped away, Liara gradually came back to her senses. She did not want the life Deilan had offered, would never allow herself to take the forgiveness he gave her - so why had she gone with him? The realization came - and with it, a cold, icy anger.  
  
"You little bastard." She snapped at him. "You messed up my mind!"  
  
:Had I not, you would never have come with me.:  
  
"Stop right this minute. I will go no further with a coercive bastard like yourself."  
  
:If I stop, you will only leave. I will not let you leave, Chosen. I love you.:  
  
With his words, the memories came back, and with them the pain. Ruthlessly she pushed them away, suppressing them so thoroughly that she felt nothing. Still cold with icy purpose, she kicked the stirrups off her feet, and began to swing her leg over the saddle. Deilan was going much faster than an ordinary horse could gallop, and maybe with her leap she could finally find oblivion.  
  
:No, Chosen!: Deilan shouted mentally, slowing abruptly. :Chosen, you must live!:  
  
"I don't deserve to live." Liara said as she slid from the saddle. "I don't deserve love."  
  
:You are being a coward, Chosen.: Deilan told her implacably. :People will suffer, and it will be your fault. People will live or die on the decisions you make.: Liara stared at him, stricken, and he moved to comfort her. :Chosen, I love you. Come with me.:  
  
"No!" Liara shouted at the pain he arose in her. "I'm not your Chosen! You can't love me! Please - don't love me. Please . . ." tears began to well in her eyes.  
  
:I did not ever mean to hurt you, Chosen. I tried to come sooner, I really did. I'm sorry it hurts, but you can't just push it away! You will kill yourself by inches, and you have a responsibility!:  
  
"You cannot tell me what to do! You are not the leader of my life - you failed when you tried to help me, so don't interfere now!" She shoved the rage away, with all the other emotions, repressed deep under the skin, and spoke again. "You want me to complete this responsibility? Well, it will be under my conditions. You do not advise me on my life, and you do not mention my life to anyone else! You hear me?" She seized his bitless hackamore and pulled his head around to meet his eyes.  
  
:I hear you, Chosen,: Sorrow chimed in his mind-voice like a bell. :And if it will make you live your life again, I will agree.:  
  
She climbed onto the saddle again, and Deilan resumed his impossibly fast gallop, leaving Karse behind as they rushed to the Valdemaran border.  
  
As they rode, Liara found herself with to much time to think. Deilan was right about her responsibility to the people she could help, and inwardly she could not deny the love she felt for the fabulous beast - And that's wrong - I don't deserve to love and be loved after all the pain I caused, all the suffering -  
  
Liara's primary gift was Empathy, to live with the feelings of those she touched. Living through the painfilled deaths of her village would have been enough to send into madness, but knowing that she had caused their pain sent her in a deadly loop. If she accepted the pain, she would suffer, yet eventually heal, but by repressing the memories away, she only strengthened them, and, like a deadly disease, they would eat away at her life. 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3  
  
*  
  
They had passed into Valdemar by the time dawn touched the sky, but it all seemed the same as Karse to the exhausted Liara. Deilan had found a Waystation, and she had been too exhausted to do anything but remove his tack and fall onto the straw filled pallet that served as a bed.  
  
Liara woke up some hours later to find the Sun high in the sky, and she sat up, ruthlessly pushing away the haunting nightmare that had awoken her. Deilan was asleep in the doorway of the Waystation, but he roused quickly when she stood up.  
  
:Well, Chosen, what of this morning?: He asked her.  
  
"Too late in the day to ride out." She replied, gathering her torn and damaged clothes and walking out into the sunlight dressed in only her shirt. "And I want a wash in that spring. I vote we stay here today, and ride out tomorrow." He nodded agreement and she slipped into the cool spring.  
  
She washed thoroughly, determined to remove every speck of blood from her person. Her clothes were all damaged past repair, but she cleaned her weapon belt thoroughly, removing every bloodstain from the beautiful knives and returning them to their sheaves.  
  
:What will you do for clothes?: Deilan asked curiously.  
  
"What I did the first time, Love." Liara replied absently, concentrating carefully on the ragged assembly. "Make some." With that comment, the pile began to shimmer and dissolve, and she carefully harvested all the energy that she could before releasing her powers again.  
  
What she made was a plain tunic and leggings of black leather, with matching boots. She dressed swiftly, and approached the uncharacteristically silent Deilan.  
  
"Deilan?" she inquired. "What are you thinking of?"  
  
:You called me "Love",: He replied quietly. :Did you mean it?:  
  
Guilt struck Liara, but she pushed it aside, consciously accepting for the first time the bond she had with Deilan. "Yes, Love, I meant it." She replied gently, and they stood together for a while, reveling in the sense of belonging the bond gave them.  
  
Finally Liara broke the silence, laying her hand gently on Deilan's glossy white shoulder. To her surprise, he shied violently away.  
  
:Your hand is like fire!: He told her in shock. :What is wrong with it?:  
  
Dismayed, Liara examined her hand. The wound that Brecke's polluted sword had made still bled sluggishly, and her entire hand felt slightly burnt.  
  
"The fire . . ." she whispered. "It went inside my hand! It's part of my nature - the fire won't leave again. It will never heal, and my hand will be made of living BloodFire until the day I die!"  
  
:What should we do? You might set things on fire by accident.: The idea was frightening. People would be suspicious already of her Karsite background, but this would completely alienate the Heralds.  
  
"I could make a glove, like my clothes, and make it unburning. It would stop the fire getting out." Liara decided, and called her power again, forming a glove of ice and magic to contain her BloodFire hand. Deilan sniffed it tentatively, and buried his nose in her palm.  
  
:All better!: he declared delightedly. :Well, Chosen, now that you will not burn with a touch, how about you find the brush that will no doubt be in the Waystation and groom me?:  
  
The rest of the day was spent easily, in preparing for the start of their journey on the morrow, but despite the early night, Liara did not sleep well. Terrible nightmares haunted her dreams, and her eyes the next day were black ringed.  
  
They moved today at a more leisurely gallop than yesterday's all out charge. By noon they saw a village, and Deilan slowed.  
  
:Can you speak Valdemaran?: he inquired.  
  
:Yes.: She replied, for the first time, in mind speech, sensing his wish for quiet. :Why?:  
  
:You can ask at the village for travel food, and they will willingly supply you. If they do, they get half taxes next year. Ask at the Guardhouse.:  
  
So Liara rode up to the Guardhouse and dismounted. She was surprised at his immediate politeness; in Karse, things would not have gone well from this point.  
  
"Excuse me, sir," Liara asked, hiding her nervousness. "But Deilan tells me that you may be able to supply me with some Wayfood."  
  
The man's eyes lit at the mention of the Companion's name. "Deilan! You've finally Chosen!" he exclaimed. Then he turned to Liara. "Well miss, we can give you plenty of supplies, but you will have to ask at villages again. If you'll wait here, I'll go get Daron, the baker, to get you some supplies."  
  
The guard also gave her a strip of copper with the word "Stonewall" engraved deep in on side.  
  
"You'll get tokens like this from the villages that help you. Give them to the colegium, and we get the Privilege Tax next year."  
  
With a hurried thanks, Liara remounted the impatient Deilan, and they rode on.  
  
It took ten days to reach Haven, and it was late in the evening, so Deilan went quickly through the gates into the city. Liara was surprised by the size of the city. Until recently, she had lived her entire life in a village of only fifty people, and the size of Haven was very intimidating.  
  
But in spite of that, she sat tall in Deilan's saddle, and went to the Colegium with confidence. Every step, she knew, took her away from her previous life.  
  
Guilt struck her then, that she could so easily brush away her crimes and let herself accept the love she didn't deserve. Her heart had been healing slowly under Deilan's care, but now despair rocked her soul.  
  
She pushed it away, into the dark corner of her soul, where she hid her pain, and she also pushed aside Deilan's love. Love was a delusion, and all it caused was pain. Without its confusing influence, she could now see clearly that she was doing this only for the people that needed her, and not for her own sake.  
  
Deilan rode through the gates into the palace proper, and walked to the Companion stables. There Liara slipped off his back and turned to face the two men standing next to the door.  
  
"I understand you are Deilan's Chosen? Liara?" asked the nearer man. Liara nodded in reply. "Greetings. I am Dean Gareth of the Colegium, and this is Jepson, the Orientation Instructor. If you would be so kind as to follow me, I will tell you a little about this Colegium." 


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4  
  
*  
  
Dean Gareth had seated her in his office, and had sat down at his desk, facing her.  
  
"Where are you from, Liara?" he inquired.  
  
Liara did not want to tell this man about herself. She did not want to give him a reason to discriminate against her. "Why do you need to know, sir?" she asked in return.  
  
The Dean was surprised as her expressionless tone, and stared at her carefully. Her face was completely expressionless, and her eyes held nothing but glassy shadows. He did not see life in that face, and inwardly he shuddered.  
  
"We send messages to a Chosen's family, to tell them about what happened." He replied at last, still gazing at her.  
  
"I have no kin to send a message to, sir." She replied.  
  
Gareth had Thoughtsensing, and Empathy, and he was shocked to find no emotions tagged to this comment. She felt no grief or pain as she spoke of being alone in the world.  
  
:Seren,: He sent to his Companion :Ask Deilan what happened to her!:  
  
:He won't say,: came the worried reply. :He just says that he came too late.:  
  
This worried Gareth more than just a little. If she had gone some severe emotional trauma, and wouldn't even talk about it - They might just have a dysfunctional Monarch's Own.  
  
He continued his questioning while deciding on a mentor for the girl. She was fifteen, two years older than most of her yearmates, so he could chose someone her age and yet more experienced in Colegium matters.  
  
"I've decided on a mentor for you." He told Liara. "She's two year groups ahead of you, but she's exactly your age."  
  
He guided her through a maze of hallways and into the Heraldic Colegium. There he showed her to a medium sized and extremely plain bedroom, which he allocated to her. After that, he sought out the trainee he had in mind.  
  
"Kirstie!" He called to the girl walking downstairs. She turned around quickly and climbed back up again.  
  
She was a friendly looking girl. She was shorter than Liara, with shoulder length, dark blonde hair, which she had pulled back in a tail. "Sir?" she asked, smiling at the new girl.  
  
"Kirstie, this is Liara. She's the one Deilan brought in. Do you think you could look after her?"  
  
"Certainly, sir." The girl nodded, before leading Liara back down the stairs. " It's dinner time, and if we don't hurry, we'll be late." The hurried down the stairs together. "So where are you from? I'm from up near Rethwellan, in some small town you won't have heard of."  
  
Liara stayed silent for a moment before replying. "I'm from Karse." She replied quietly.  
  
Kirstie stopped. "You're joking, surely." She whispered, shocked.  
  
Liara shook her head. "No joke." She said firmly. "But, if it makes me more acceptable, my parents were Rethwellan mercenaries before they got stuck in Karse." She spoke bitterly, now knowing that prejudice would run even higher than she had feared.  
  
Kirstie shook her head anxiously. "It seems so odd." She admitted. "I mean, Jerreth, Deilan's last Chosen, was killed in a battle with Karse. It seems strange that Deilan would Choose a Karsite." Kirstie then, obviously, tried to dispel all her worries. "Well, you were Chosen, so you must be a good person." She could have had no idea how much her words hurt.  
  
*  
  
Liara sat in her room and considered the bare walls. They needed some decoration, to take the echoing dullness away - but what? Liara had no money to pay for pictures.  
  
The thought came to her that she could use her elemental magics to create a display, but what would be appropriate? Then an idea came, and Liara set to work.  
  
She made a hanging on either side of the fireplace, and three hanging above the desk, five tapestries showing all the different aspects of the world.  
  
One - silver and gold in jagged stripes, splitting down from a mess of dark gray embroidery.  
  
Two - a blaze of reds and yellows, licking up the tapestry with sparks of golden thread.  
  
Three - swirls of blue and green, spiraling with silver wisps in complex circles.  
  
Four - a lazy weaving of soft greens and browns, using gentle colours and materials.  
  
Five - A light design, showing whirls of white, gold, and silver, weaving on a creamy background.  
  
The five elements, Lightning, fire, water, earth and air. Each was a decoration, and yet still a warning - for hidden deep within each tapestry, was the image of a sharp and deadly dagger. 


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5  
  
*  
  
Someone knocked on her door, but Liara finished arranging her belt before answering. They had supplied her with these pale gray tunics instead of her own black ones, but she would be damned if they made her lose her daggers as well!  
  
Sure enough, when she opened the door, Kirstie's first reaction was to say in shock  
  
"You're still carrying those?"  
  
"Of course." Replied Liara, slightly amused by her vehemence, as she stepped out to join her. "I take them everywhere."  
  
Kirstie surveyed them dubiously. "They don't look that bad, actually." She conceded. "They're a nice colour." She led Liara back to the dining room then, for breakfast.  
  
After their meal, the bell rang for the start of lessons, and Kirstie took her out into the grounds for weapons training.  
  
"What weapons do you know?" demanded the formidable Weaponsmaster, Bredan, when they entered the salle.  
  
Liara, unintimidated in spite of the universal fearful respect people gave him, answered immediately. "I can shoot a bow accurately and well. I am proficient in unarmed combat, and I can use most edged weapons to defend myself."  
  
The Weaponsmaster looked skeptical, and she had the feeling he would try to make a fool out of her - if he could. "Can you use those pretty little knives that you're carrying?" He asked her.  
  
"Certainly, sir. They're my weapon of choice."  
  
"Very well. Use them to defend yourself against my sword attack."  
  
She drew both knives easily, and tilted one carefully so it reflected sunlight into his eyes. Bredan smiled in appreciation of this ploy, but merely moved aside. Liara waited as he drew his sword and took a fighting stance, holding her own weapons in a deceptively lazy grip. Bredan came towards her a swung a feint at her left side. She dodged it easily, but made no other move.  
  
This process was repeated, with him swinging at Liara, and her merely deflecting, than refusing to follow up.  
  
"What, are you battle shy?" He asked her at one stage in feigned puzzlement. "Why do you not attack?"  
  
"You specified that I merely defend, Weaponsmaster." Liara replied.  
  
"Defense is over! Now is the time for attack."  
  
Liara smiled grimly. As she had hoped, he now thought her weapon shy. Defeating him would be easy. She danced across the floor and closed with him, making a controlled thrust which he jumped away from, startled by her sudden change in tactics. Then a deadly dance of blades - Bredan was good, though no match for either of her parents - before her final work.  
  
Liara tripped, falling to the floor in a controlled tumble. The Weaponsmaster saw his opportunity and sent his sword slicing down to her head, in a move she could not stop -  
  
Unless, of course, she had deliberately set the stage for this strike. Losing her feigned helplessness, she whipped her hands up, catching his sword between their crossed blades, before twisting her hands, sending Bredan's sword into a wall.  
  
Then, before he could recover, she sent one razor edged blade straight for his chest, at an angle that would send her knife cleanly between his third and fourth ribs, reaching his heart.  
  
The blade swept in its deadly strike, unalterable at its immense speed - and stopped, touching, but not even scratching his white tunic.  
  
*  
  
The salle, full though it was with Heraldic trainees, was full of echoing silence. Bredan stared in shock at the deadly knife still held steady by the astounding new trainee.  
  
"Stand down, trainee." Bredan managed to say, still speechless with shock at her skill and cunning.  
  
She nodded, and returned both blades easily to the sheaths that hung from her belt. The salle was filling with astonished murmurs, and she blushed slightly from the praise inherent in their tones.  
  
"That was - well done." The Weaponsmaster managed. "Extremely well done! Could I please examine your weapons?"  
  
She pulled one from its sheaf with her black-gloved hand and reversed it, offering him the hilt.  
  
"Amazing!" He said as her hefted it experimentally. "A perfect weight and balance. It's a little overdecorated for my taste, but lovely work all same." He moved one hand as if to test the edge.  
  
"Be careful, sir." She warned him. "The blade is sharp enough to cut through bone like butter."  
  
He looked skeptical, but instead used his reinforced fighting gloves, pulling the strong leather over the blade. To his obvious surprise, the leather was cut in two with almost resistance.  
  
"My, my," he said mildly, picking up the butchered glove and returning the knife to Liara. "You are full of surprises." He paused, then. "Do you happen to know the use of the sword?" He asked her curiously.  
  
She squashed uneasy memories as she answered. "I'd really rather not use one, sir." She told him politely.  
  
He picked out a practice sword and offered it to her. "I will teach you the sword." He told her firmly, and she took the weapon.  
  
She held it in a slack grip, studying it unhappily, when suddenly memories overcame her.  
  
. . . Brecke's foul blade ripping through her palm, infecting, polluting, the pain . . .  
  
The blade clanged as it hit the wooden floor, and Liara backed away, her left hand clenched into a fist.  
  
"I don't . . . like . . . swords." She forced the words out through clenched teeth, trying to calm herself out of the panic that had filled her with the touch of the weapon.  
  
"Very well," Bredan said, confused by her sudden aversion. "You may go to the archery field."  
  
Liara almost ran from the building.  
  
With her gone, Weaponsmaster Bredan bent to pick up the sword she had dropped, and picked it up with care.  
  
He had given her a blunt practice blade, but the sword he held was razor sharp. 


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6  
  
*  
  
At archery Liara gave a good accounting of herself, and pleased instructors sent her on to the riding class.  
  
Here Deilan trotted up to the fence, and she greeted him affectionately, realizing with a start that she had missed him. She climbed onto his saddle without waiting for the appearance of the missing instructor. She stayed on as her went into a wild gallop, careening joyfully around the field. Her heart lifted as they galloped together. She didn't have to prove or justify herself to him. He wouldn't think she was exaggerating her prowess or boasting when she told him her abilities. Things were easier with him.  
  
"Come in, Trainee!" bellowed a voice, and Liara's heart sank. The teacher had arrived. The peace she had filled herself with suddenly dispersed as she turned Deilan and trotted towards the instructor.  
  
Without waiting for Deilan to stop completely, she kicked her feet free of the stirrups and slid onto the ground, facing the man.  
  
He was whipcord lean and fairly small, no taller than Liara herself, but that would only be an advantage. His Companion would be able to move like lightning with so small a weight on his back.  
  
"I am Herald Terrace." He announced. "I am the riding instructor here. Do you have any horse riding experience?"  
  
Well, duh. Liara thought, irritation rising at his ignorance. I have just been charging around the field!  
  
"No, sir." She answered politely. "There were very few horses in my home village, sir."  
  
"It seems that we will need to begin at the beginning, then."  
  
And so, to Liara's intense irritation, he began to teach he the basics. When in her irritation, she snapped that Deilan had taught her plenty of riding on their journey, he looked as skeptical as Bredan had, and asked her to take the obstacle course.  
  
The obstacle course was normally used for the more senior trainees. It was a very difficult task that needed skilled rider and excellent reflexes. Liara assumed grimly that Terrace expected her to demur, but she immediately set off at a gallop, and executed the course perfectly.  
  
As she rode back to the instructor, she was pleased to note that he looked rather startled.  
  
"You must be a natural." He told her, still wild eyed. "I've never seen anything like that."  
  
Liara wondered whether she should reveal the true reason for her riding experience, but decided that he wouldn't believe her if she told him that her family had befriended the horselike, deerlike Saigon, Earth elementals, and they had taught her how to ride.  
  
"Well, since you obviously know a bit about riding," Terrace continued, "I will teach you how to do anything that you can do on the ground on horseback."  
  
"I already can!" she burst out. Hadn't her display taught him anything?  
  
"I don't believe you." Terrace answered bluntly.  
  
Liara ground her teeth, but answered politely. "Name one."  
  
"Ah . . . Weapons." He replied, startled by her brisk approach.  
  
"I can use them just fine, on ground or horseback." When he still looked doubtful, she lost her temper, and snapped, "Didn't the Weaponsmaster tell you that underestimating me can be hazardous to your health?"  
  
At this Terrace looked curious. "No . . . Why?" he asked.  
  
"I managed to score a kill on him with relative ease." She replied. "Trust me. I can do just fine on Deilan, too."  
  
The bell signaling the end of the morning's work finally tolled, and Liara turned with intense relief back to the Colegium.  
  
*  
  
At lunch, Liara ignored the curious stares of her fellow trainees, who had heard of her performance during weapons practice, and escaped as soon as she could to her room, where she gathered her textbooks and proceeded on to her first class.  
  
Desperately she hoped that these classes would present something new. Entertaining though it had been to best all her tutors this morning, it was extremely irritating to be underestimated at every turn.  
  
This first lesson was basic orientation. It was only for a month or so, but it should present some new information. Sure enough, the lesson was all about the creation of Valdemar and the Heralds, a subject that her parents had not known much about, and she found it interesting. It almost made up, in fact, for the next class, which was languages.  
  
It was the fact that she already spoke Rethwellan, Hardornen and Valdemaran as well as her native Karsite that made her lose concentration and Herald Jilla lectured them on the importance of learning to fit in in other countries.  
  
"Why, someday you might have to do some discreet surveillance!" she declared. "Where would you be if you didn't speak the language?"  
  
Liara let herself drift out of awareness as Jilla began to teach the class Rethwellan. It was some time later that she was awoken from her trance.  
  
"Well? Aren't you going to answer my question?" Herald Jilla asked sarcastically. "Or weren't you paying attention?"  
  
The class giggled, gleeful at seeing the arrogant newcomer receive a dressing down, but Liara said nothing.  
  
"Why weren't you paying attention?" demanded the herald impatiently. "Do you think it isn't important to learn?"  
  
Liara decided in irritation that a good shock would do her good. She answered in perfect, unaccented Rethwellan. "I wasn't listening, because I already know more languages than you can teach." she replied heatedly, grimly pleased by Jilla's widened eyes. "I was bored half to tears by your stupid lectures, and I don't need this bloody class!" All the exasperation of a wasted morning was pushed into her angry words, but she had unwittingly invited more rage than she had felt, for Herald Jilla's face was perceptibly darkening.  
  
"Go to the Dean," Jilla replied, voice shaking with suppressed wrath. "I will tell him soon why you have been sent."  
  
Liara walked defiantly out the door, but she was inwardly already regretting her hasty words. 


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7  
  
*  
  
By the time she reached the Dean's office, she had suppressed the unwanted rage at the unfairness of life into the deep, dark corner of her soul were she hid her pain, and she was empty and impassive, free from all the emotions that only made life hard.  
  
Dean Gareth summoned her promptly into his office, and sat looking at her gravely.  
  
"I understand you insulted Herald Jilla during your language class today, Liara." He spoke quietly, with no emotion in his soft voice.  
  
"Yes, sir." Her voice rivaled his for expressionlessness.  
  
"In Rethwellan."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"Which was, in fact, the language she had been trying to teach."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"And I have similar reports here from the instructors of your morning classes."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
After this he paused before speaking again. "Tell me, Liara," he said with a sigh. "Who taught you so well that you are able to best the instructors at their own jobs?"  
  
The question startled Liara, and she blinked. "My parents, sir." She answered finally.  
  
The answer confused Gareth. She had said at their original interview that she had no family. From the lack of emotion she had shown to this statement, he had assumed that they had been dead for a long time, but that did not fit with this new statement.  
  
"I thought that your parents were dead!" he spoke without thinking, startled, and he cursed his unwary tongue.  
  
"They are, sir." She replied, the lifeless, empty look returning to her face.  
  
"When did they die?" he asked, more gently this time. He had to get to the bottom of her problems.  
  
"Twelve days ago, sir." There was so little inflection in her voice that she might have been discussing the weather.  
  
Gareth was appalled by her answer. To have so crushingly recent a tragedy, and to feel no emotion -  
  
Something was terribly wrong with this girl.  
  
Suddenly he remembered asking his Companion, Seren, to ask Deilan what was wrong with the girl. The answer came clearly from his memories.  
  
:He won't say. He just says that he came too late.:  
  
A sudden suspicion filled Gareth.  
  
:Seren,: he asked. :How long ago did Deilan Choose?:  
  
:Twelve days ago,: replied his Companion.  
  
Was that what Deilan had meant? Too late to save her parents?  
  
:I don't think so,: Seren told him suddenly. :Deilan was sworn to secrecy, and he can't get around it, but he does want us to find out what happened to his Chosen, and I don't think that's it.:  
  
"Liara," He asked her, staring into her dead eyes, "How did your parents die?"  
  
If he hadn't have been looking at her eyes, he would have missed it, but there was a brief flicker of emotion - pain/grief/hatred/despair- that was abruptly cut off.  
  
"I don't see that it's any of your business, sir." She said. The crushing blow of emotion that had suddenly obsessed her was gone.  
  
"I want you to tell me." He was losing patience with her uncommuniation.  
  
"They were murdered." She said at length. She spoke defiantly, as though daring him to disbelieve, but her voice still showed no grief or pain. "They were murdered by a mob of angry villagers."  
  
Now a moment of horrified shock struck him, before common sense reintruded. That couldn't have happened. He would have heard, such a crime would have been heard of and the criminals brought to justice. Unless . . .  
  
How had Liara learned Rethwellan so perfectly? Could she have lived there?  
  
:No.: Seren informed him. :Deilan says that you're on the right track, but - not Rethwellan.:  
  
Where then?  
  
"Liara," he asked, trying to get the answer in a roundabout way, "What languages do you know?"  
  
She was baffled by the sudden change in tactics, and answered without thinking. "Valdemaran, Hardornen, Rethwellan, and Karsite."  
  
If not Valdemar or Rethwellan, perhaps Hardorn?  
  
:No,:  
  
Not -  
  
:Yes,: Seren said, :I think it's Karse. Deilan wouldn't answer me.:  
  
But Karse?  
  
Well, it would at least explain her parents murder; perhaps they were gifted, too. Magic in any form was illegal in Karse, and perhaps suspects would be killed by mobs. Valdemar knew so little about Karsite customs.  
  
"Why were your parents murdered, Liara?" Gareth continued his investigation, needing proof - and perhaps he would discover some reason for her - deadness.  
  
She said nothing. Anything she said would bring back the memories - and the screams. She couldn't bear hearing the screams again -  
  
"Your parents were killed because they practiced magic, and it's illegal in Karse, weren't they, Liara?" Gareth prompted her, determined that he would find out the truth.  
  
It was only because he was actively scanning her mind that he caught the edges of her enraged mental shout.  
  
:DEILAN!:  
  
Despite the deafening mindcall, he kept his attention steady - in her rage at her Companion, maybe her impenetrable shields would have loosened somewhat . . .  
  
They had, but somehow she detected his stealthy tendril of thought, and blocked him out with a backlash that stung.  
  
"Stay out of my head." Liara told him, the storm-racked sea of emotion he had sensed now completely undetectable in her lifeless eyes. "You won't like what you find in there."  
  
With those words she stood and walked from Gareth's office, leaving the Dean stupefied and speechless.  
  
*  
  
Some time later, Seren spoke into his head. :Deilan is unhappy. The girl has blocked him out completely. He can't get through her shields even to explain.:  
  
:Tell him she'll get over it.: Gareth told his Companion, hoping that this would be the case.  
  
:You don't understand,: Seren said, his distress evident. :She isn't just shielding, she is actively trying to repudiate the Companion-bond!:  
  
:What? That's unheard of! No herald has ever repudiated his Companion!: Once or twice, Gareth remembered, it happened the other way around, with a Companion breaking the bond between him and his Chosen, but that was very, very rare. It hadn't happened in over a century.  
  
:Deilan won't let her, though.: Seren continued, mindvoice bright and sharp with his unhappiness. :He says without the bond, she would be even worse than she is now. He says that she's been healing, a bit, since she was Chosen, but that you just made it worse by questioning her.:  
  
Gareth winced with the guilt that statement caused. But he needed to discover her problems! He could not afford to have a dysfunctional Monarch's Own!  
  
:Have Kirstie find out about her,: Seren suggested. :And get Kirstie to tell you. According to Deilan, the girl opened up to Kirstie quite a bit. It might work.: Seren considered this for a while. :And you should put her in Kirstie's classes. That might help.:  
  
The Dean considered this for a while. :But what if Liara doesn't know enough?:  
  
Seren responded with a deep mental chuckle. :From her actions in class,: he said, :That girl probably knows enough to make full herald!: 


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8  
  
*  
  
A knock on the door broke the silence, but Liara didn't answer. Probably some Herald wondering why she didn't turn up for the rest of her classes.  
  
The knock repeated, and the door knob was tried, but Liara had bolted the door shut, and it remained stubbornly closed. A voice inserted itself through the crack.  
  
"If you don't unlock the door," someone said cheerfully, "I'll use my Fetching gift to open it. I can, you know."  
  
Kirstie! Liara stood up from her position on the chair and pulled open the door. Kirstie walked in immediately and looked around appreciatively.  
  
"Nice hangings." She commented, looking at the five tapestries Liara had created. "Where did you get them? Can't say I like the dagger, though."  
  
"You can see a dagger?" Liara said in surprise. Only people with slight elemental gifts could see the daggers woven into the tapestries. "In which hanging?"  
  
"This one." Kirstie replied, gesturing to the picture of lightening hanging over the fireplace. "It's a good effect, but the subject's a bit grim."  
  
That explained it. Kirstie probably had a touch of mage gift, which often brought with it some Lightening power.  
  
"Did you come here to discus my decor?" Liara asked pointedly, resuming her seat. Kirstie appropriated the edge of the bed.  
  
"No, in fact." Kirstie replied, keeping her cheerful tone in spite of this snub. "The Dean called me to his office a while ago."  
  
Blood pounded in Liara's ears. This was outrageous! First he pried into her affairs, and now he interrogated her friends about her!  
  
"He told me about your - interview," Kirstie continued, watching Liara closely. "He wants me to spy on you."  
  
"What did you tell him?" asked Liara. Rage still pumped in her veins, despite her attempt to suppress it.  
  
Kirstie snorted. "No, of course. I'm your friend, aren't I?"  
  
"A better friend than Deilan is," Liara muttered, her anger draining away in the face of Kirstie's steadfast loyalty.  
  
"Oh?" asked Kirstie. "What did he do?"  
  
"Told the Dean about me, when I told him to keep his mouth shut about what he knows." Liara replied, her anger at this betrayal strengthening the shields that kept Deilan's, and the love he offered, quite firmly out. She did not want him, traitor that he was, interfering in her life anymore.  
  
"Oh." Said Kirstie blankly, and her face became vacant. "My Companion, Lyathra, says that the Dean just guessed." She told Liara.  
  
In reply she got a disbelieving noise. "Yes, with Deilan telling him every time he made a wrong answer."  
  
This struck Kirstie as interesting. What was so important about Liara's past that made her so desperate for secrecy? And what made Deilan so desperate for others to find out?  
  
Kirstie had refused to spy for the Dean, but, now alerted to her friend's problems, she might do a bit of spying for herself - but much more subtly than the Dean's crude method. And she knew, or at least suspected, things the Dean didn't know - she had seen the scar that marred Liara's right shoulder, and noted that she kept her glove on even while bathing. She believed she knew the cause of Liara's aversion for swords.  
  
*  
  
The dinner bell tolled, and Kirstie stood up.  
  
"Come on." She said pulling Liara out of her seat. "I'll introduce you to your new yearmates."  
  
"My what?" asked Liara, confused by this sudden incongruous declaration.  
  
"Oh, didn't I say?" Kirstie asked innocently, blue eyes sparkling with mischeif. "Youv'e been transfered to my year group."  
  
With that she sailed blithely from the room, leaving behind an extremely startled Liara. 


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9  
  
*  
  
The year group was much smaller than was usual - Liara was the fifth member, and Kirstie was the only other girl. The other three members were Daven, a merchant's son, Geral, an innkeeper's nephew, and Herreld, an arrogant highborn.  
  
They talked during dinner. Kirstie already knew about Herreld's arrogant jibes, and Daven and Geral generally reflected his arrogance with jokes of their own - but Liara was a commoner and a stranger, and thus fair game.  
  
"Liara," Herreld said, in an amiable tone that fooled no one, "Do you wear that glove while you sleep?"  
  
If Herreld was expecting snickers about this unusual eccentricity, or an embaressed blush from Liara, he was very dissapointed.  
  
"Yes." Liara replied shortly, taking another bite of food.  
  
Herreld looked completely nonplussed, and Kirstie laughed openly at his blank face.  
  
"Let that be a lesson to you, not to make fun." Said Daven. "But, Liara - why?"  
  
At this, Liara stopped eating, and leaned back in her chair, before carefully peeling off the glove. Even to herself, the skin felt hot. She held out the hand for inspection.  
  
Herreld recoiled from the gruesome wound. It was a deep cut, and the skin around the hole was burnt by the bloodfire in her hand. Kirstie looked shocked. She wondered how Liara had gotten this - and why on earth hadn't she been to a healer?  
  
Geral showed no wish to examine her hand, but Daven leaned forward, and reached towards her hand. Immediately she curled her fingers. If he touched her hand, he would end up with blistered fingertips.  
  
"It's hot." Liara warned. "You'd singe your fingers." She pulled the glove back on.  
  
Daven looked perplexed. "Why didn't you go to a healer?" He asked, echoing Kirstie's mental question.  
  
Liara only shrugged. She had already told them more than she planned to about herself. "It wouldn't help." She replied, hoping to deter the inevitable questions. "No healer can ever do anything with me - and in any case, that cut never could heal. It's there until I die."  
  
Now the faces around the table were sceptical - all except Kirstie, who looked thoughtful - but nothing was said, so Liara finished her dinner and went to her room.  
  
*  
  
Daven left soon after Liara, but he went to the healer's colegium. He knew a journeyman there who might be able to help Liara's hand, but keep it off the record.  
  
Daven dismissed out of hand her assertion that nothing would heal it - that was plainly ignorance. Even Robern, though not as skilled as a full healer, would be able to do something.  
  
*  
  
A knock on her door startled Liara, and she was even more startled when she opened it. Daven stood there, with a boy, a little older than him, dressed in lime green.  
  
Daven spoke without preamble. "Liara, this is Robern. He's a Healer journeyman. I thought he could help your hand."  
  
Liara supressed a flash of annoyance. Daven was only trying to help her. "I told you; Healers can't work on me, and my hand will never heal anyway."  
  
"That is ignorance." Commented Robern loftily. "A good Healer can fix anything."  
  
This time Liara did not bother to repress her irritation. She could accept - barely - arrogance in a Heraldic trainee, but from anyone else, arrogance deserved to be punctured. This fool would soon learn the truth.  
  
She peeled off the glove again, and extended her hand towards Robern, ready to break contact when his fingers started to hurt. Robern reached out and touched her palm. He pulled away fingers already starting to blister, and stared at her in wide eyed astonishment.  
  
"Convinced now?" Liara asked the pair wearily. She wanted to sleep.  
  
Daven looked extremely convinced, but Robern looked stubborn.  
  
"I can do this." He approached her again, but this time he placed both hands, nervously, on her wrist. When he found no heat in her skin, he began to concentrate, sifting his energy into her.  
  
What he found was a maelstrom of alien power that wove itself into the physical as well as the mental. It was dizzying, bright beyond brightness, and it blinded, overstimulating his senses . . .  
  
*  
  
Robern collapsed on the floor, to Daven's horrified surprise and Liara's exasperated resignation.  
  
"Idiot." She muttered, kneeling beside himand calling a strand of healing energy. She used it to rouse Robern from his unconscious state, but did nothing to releive the reaction headache he would soon feel. She felt that he deserved that, as a warning against arrogant stupidity. Liara stood, and helped Robern to stand.  
  
"What was that?" he asked her incredulously. "That power you have?" He shook his head as if to clear it. "And - it's not just a power - you're half made of the stuff! No wonder I couldn't heal you."  
  
Liara ground her teeth together. He had learned far more about her elemental gifts than she'd thought he would. Now she would have to explain.  
  
"There is something called Elemental magic." She told the stunned pair. "It isn't the same thing as mind magic or mage gift, but it's even more effective. I have elemental magic, and that is the power you felt." They looked shellshocked. "Now please, go away; I'm tired."  
  
The pair stumbled away. She bolted the door, and went to bed. But, exhausted though she was, she did not sleep for a while. She was thinking about a pair of soft brown eyes, and gold-brown hair.  
  
She smiled to herself as she drifted of to sleep. She was falling for Daven's handsome face, like any silly chit.  
  
I thought I was better than that. She thought as she finally slept.  
  
A masculine chuckle sounded in her head, and she was too tired to shut Deilan out. :No one's better than that, Chosen.: 


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10  
  
*  
  
Daven was worried about Liara. Every time he tried to find out what had happened to her, or asked her any personal questions at all, she would suddenly shut down, pushing emotion away and turning dead eyes to the world. No one else seemed to notice, much, but Daven knew that something was horribly, horribly wrong.  
  
He had to find out what! It infected him with an unquentiable purpose. He had asked Terrisse, his Companion, for help, but she had answered with evasions. It was infuriating.  
  
And so today, he would seek Liara out, and try to stop the burning anxiety that filled him when he thought about her. He was inescapeably drawn to the mystery that surrounded her. But it was not only answers that he sought, he knew - he had begun to dream about a pair of sad, sapphire eyes, eyes that desperately needed his help.  
  
Liara had gone walking in Companion's Field, and now was a good time to find out what was wrong. Daven followed her, thinking about different ways to approach the subject.  
  
Liara was sitting by a small pool, idly splashing with one hand, leaning on Deilan for support. When Daven entered the glade, he approached quickly and sat down opposite her. She waited. It was a tactic that worked well, if only because it made the other person nervous.  
  
"Liara," Daven said, deciding to approach the matter directly. "What happened to you before you came to Haven?"  
  
Her eyes began to deaden as she repressed the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her.  
  
"Don't do that!" Daven cried, watching as coldness stole over her. "Don't just keep repressing, like that!" He fell silent, embaressed by his outburst.  
  
Liara was shocked. Daven normally seemed so calm, but now real anxiety was sharp in his voice. He looked at her, worry filling his brown eyes. She wanted to let herself cry on his shoulder, to tell him the truth, but he would despise her. She didn't want him to hate her.  
  
"Why is that your business?" Liara tried to sound rude, but her voice was betraying her. Tears began to form, but she blinked them away hastily. She was apalled at this loss of control - surely she wasn't under enough stress that she would go confessing her secrets to anyone.  
  
"It's my business," Daven told her gently, "Because you will kill yourself by inches if you go on fighting yourself. Life's hard enough without filling it with personel demons."  
  
It was his voice that did it, a blend of worry and sympathy that burst the dam that closed her heart. Bit by bit, the story of her life came out.  
  
*  
  
Daven was appalled. Not at what Liara had done, but what had been done to her. Daven placed an arm around her as Deilan slipped away, holding her as the bottled up emotions washed over him, a sea of rage and pain. He was thankful that he wasn't an Empath - this storm of bitter feelings would practically knock an Empath out - it was already giving him a strong headache.  
  
He held her against him as she gradually regained her composure. She sat up, and he released her reluctantly.  
  
"You must hate me, now." She said, moving away.  
  
"No - why should I? What happened was not your fault." He spoke as forcefully as he could, trying to reassure her. "It was not your fault."  
  
"I killed them, Daven," she reminded him, with a vestige of her former dull despair breaking through. "They were innocent people - and I killed them."  
  
He took her in his arms again. "They conspired your murder, and the murder of your parents." He said firmly, seeking to imprint this on her mind. "It wasn't your fault."  
  
They stayed in the quiet glade for a long time, taking a quiet comfort from each other's company. Then the bell rang, shattering their idyll, and they traipsed into the dining hall. 


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11  
  
*  
  
After dinner Liara went to bed early. Her earlier emotional display had eexhausted her, and she soon fell into a deep sleep, one blessedly devoid of the nightmares that had plagued her steps since the death of her parents.  
  
She was too deeply asleep to wake as the door opened silently, and if the person entering was inclined to make noise, he would have chuckled.  
  
He glided silently towards where she lay on the bed, on her front with her arms curled beneath her. The asassin smiled. Her back and neck were exposed, and with one swift stike between the third and fourth vertebre, he could kill her instantly - and silently.  
  
He raised the thin and deadly needle like dirk in his hand, and prepared to end the girl's life in one stroke.  
  
*  
  
Liara was woken from her sleep by a warning. A mental schreech, primal and wordless, filled her mind. Metal - a knife - warning me . . .  
  
Fists clenched beneath the pillow, closing around knife hilts that sang in her mind. She moved as fast as her sleep drugged mind could allow her. She didn't need to see in this darkness, the asassin's knife shreiked silently, betraying his position. The knife was descending towards her with a blurred speed, but Liara thrust quickly, and one of Liara's knives was buried up to the hilt in his wrist.  
  
With a thought, Liara sent fire to the candles and sent ropy tendrils of magic to condense around the shocked asassin, binding him with silvery ropes. Liara retrieved her knife, and called a vrondii to hover over him.  
  
His pain-sick face illuminated with an eerie bluish glow.  
  
"Who do you work for? Why kill me?" she asked urgently.  
  
"I work for the Son of the Sun." The asassin replied in unaccented Valdenaran, but Liara went cold. The Son of the Sun was the head of the Karsite Priesthood. "We kill you, because you are demon spawn, defying the Sunlord with your blasphemies! And it's not just you." The mans eyes were wild with madness and glee. "The demons who call themselves the king and queen will die, too. And with no rulers, and no Monarch's Own, Valdemar will fall under the Cleansing fires of Vkandis!" The man burst into peal after peal of mad laughter, but Liara was already gone, running desperately to the new palace, and to the king and queen.  
  
Liara knew that she was the Monarch's Own, but the fact had no real relevance until now. After all, Arden and Leesa were lifebonded Heralds; they hardly needed her as a confidant. And as adviser, what could one girl know? And as the last option, comfortor - well, Liara had her own problems.  
  
But now . . . Liara tightened her grip on the unsheaved knives, and ran faster.  
  
The corridor outside the royal suite - two guards were there, crumpled forms on the stone floor. Liara shoved through the door, and ran to the bedchamber. The suite was in darkness, but Liara did not trip. The stone building was an open book to her questing senses.  
  
The door to the bedchamber stood ajar, and Liara was afraid she had come to late. She sent swift flecks of flame to the unlit candles, and saw a black clad figure standing by the bed.  
  
Too late! She could never cross the intervening distance in time, and he was about to kill the Queen ...  
  
In one desperate move, Liara launched her knife across the room. It was not a throwing knife, and it twisted end over end as it flew. Liara's heart twisted as she watched the knife fly across the room . . .  
  
*  
  
Arden and Leesa were awakened by the sound of a pained cry, and a crash as the asassin's knife slipped from suddenly numb fingers to hit the stone floor. The man followed it, trying desperately to pull out the silver knife that had struck deep into his heart.  
  
Leesa gave a half gasp, half scream of shocked fear, and Arden put an arm around her as he sat up in bed. He looked around for the knife's weilder, and saw a white faced girl standing in the door.  
  
He remembered her face with a start; this was the Chosen of Deilan - the Monarch's Own.  
  
*  
  
The rest of the night passed in a blur. First their had to be an explanation, and then the body was removed, and the still-bound asassin was taken from Liara's room and questioned.  
  
Liara's mind was reeling. She had not previously understood what an important position Monarch's Own was - she had thought it an empty title. But now she was told that, by law, if the ruler of Valdemar was killed without a designated heir, it was the Monarch's Own who ruled until a new ruler was decided upon. No wonder the Karsites wanted her out of the way as well as the monarchs - without any of them, Valdemar would be leaderless, and open to invasion.  
  
Liara shuddered at the idea of the Heralds being 'cleansed' on the sacrificial fires of Vkandis.  
  
False dawn shone in the East before the night was over, and Liara stumbled with exhaustion as she stumbled back to her room.  
  
Her last drowsy thought was to note that the bloodstains had been cleaned from the bed linen before she fell asleep.  
  
*  
  
Liara woke up at noon, and looked blearily around the room. There was a note stuck on the door.  
  
It tersely asked Liara to report to Dean Gareth's office as soon as she awoke. Liara groaned aloud. More explanations.  
  
She dressed quickly in her student Greys, and did not neglect to buckle on her knife belt. If Karse could get asassins into the middle of Haven, they could get asassins anywhere. Then she walked down the corridors to the Dean's office.  
  
He seemed uncomfortable, and that worried Liara more than a little. She was tense as she sat down, and she maintained her wariness until he spoke.  
  
"I know you come from Karse," the Dean said in an anxious tone.  
  
Liara almost laughed aloud, remembering with a guilty twinge the scene she had made when he had confronted her with that. Was this the only reason for his anxiety? It seemed silly - but of course, he couldn't know that it was different now.  
  
Gareth watched her as she gave an affirmative. There was something different about her - she was somehow more alive, more open than she had been. Was this a good sign? Gareth didn't know.  
  
:Seren,: he asked his Companion. :Is there something different about her, now?:  
  
:Deilan says there is.: Seren replied. :He says that the memories that haunted her have been healed. She may not want to talk about her experiences, but she accepts them, now.:  
  
Gareth breathed a silent sigh of releif. Perhaps she'd be easier to talk to, now.  
  
"From the information we got from the asassin," he said, sitting down opposite Liara, "We think the Karsites are planning an invasion, even though our rulers, and our Monarch's Own," He nodded to her. "Are alive and well." Now he paused, as if ordering his thoughts. "We need to discover their plans."  
  
"Have you any spies in Karse?" Liara asked, dreading the answer.  
  
"No." The Dean replied. He wouldn't look at her. "They always get discovered, because they don't know the customs."  
  
Ah. Liara stayed silent, but her thoughts were winding to the inevitable conclusion.  
  
"We wondered if you would go to Karse, and do some reconasance."  
  
She had expected it, but still she flinched away from the idea. To go back to Karse . . . the idea was terrifying. But it was duty. She remembered, she had only come with Deilan because of duty. It was her duty to say yes.  
  
And even without duty, she thought of Daven, with his comfort, and Kirstie, her first friend, and even Herreld, with his whiplash arrogance. They might die if she didn't do this.  
  
The answer would always be yes. 


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12  
  
*  
  
Liara left that evening, without telling her Yearmates, or, indeed, anyone but the King, the Queen, and the Dean. They did not want news of her departure leaking out to any Karsite spies.  
  
It took ten days to reach the Karsite border, and Liara and Deilan waited until nightfall to slip over the border. It would take another week to reach their goal.  
  
Any invasion would start from the capital, where the main army camps were, so that was a good place to start her spying.  
  
*  
  
Liara dismounted, and untacked Deilan, shoving the plain, old saddle under some brambles. She took from the saddlebags one plain, patched leather carry-bag, and a bundle of red cloth. She pulled off the black leather riding clothes and unfolded the red woolen dress, wrinkling her nose at the rank odour as she pulled it over her head.  
  
That done, she loosened her neat coronet of braids, replaiting it untidily. For shoes she wore sandals of aged, scuffed leather, and she swung the carryall over her back.  
  
"Shoo, love." She said to Deilan. "I go alone from here. And watch out - rumours say that demons patrol the camps." Deilan nuzzled her lovingly before trotting swiftly away into the thicker woods.  
  
Liara checked herself over. The disguise was good. The red dress was old and faded, as well as being artistically ripped, and studiously unwashed. Liara, also, had refrained from bathing in recent times, so she, too, looked unremarkable. Liara carefully hiked up the skirt to display an expanse of leg, and pulled down the bodice as well. Now there was just one more peice to her disguise.  
  
Liara pulled a dagger from its place of concealment inside the lining of her dress, and struck herself squarely on one cheek. Soldiers were notoriously ungentle with their girls, and with this bruise, Liara was just another camp follower.  
  
The soldiers had often beguiled attractive young women to come with them to the army camps, telling them of all the food they could eat, and gold and jewels beyond imagining. What they got when they arrived at the army camps was a ripped tent to share with other misled women, enough food to keep a rat alive, and the job of warming the bed of any soldier who wanted it.  
  
Liara knew that she could avoid this last with a judiscious use of mind magic, but the other two she would have to accept. No one noticed another whore in an army camp, and so she could gather vital information and still stay relatively unseen.  
  
Aparrently another regiment had arrived only an hour or to ago, escorting some girls and some taxes from some other city. The timing was perfect for Liara, and she drifted into one of the outlying camps.  
  
*  
  
She hurried from the tent as the council broke up, and she found a place of concealment.  
  
:Deilan? Support me, will you?: At the Companion's affirmative, she reached out with her Farspeech, and tried to contact Dean Gareth's mind.  
  
:Liara?: He had caught her questing tendril of thought, and prepared to hear her report.  
  
:The army advances in two weeks. They'll come, a huge army, up the South Trade Road. But don't send in the army! They will take ground and fight battles, and thoroughly distract you, and then, a week later, another army, twice the size, is going to slip through White Foal Pass and attack from behind.:  
  
:A week? But Liara, without the army in place, they'll take a lot of ground.:  
  
:Let them! You can win it back after the first army retreats.:  
  
:We'll discuss it.: Gareth promised her. :Now, get out of there. The army will start moving right away, if they have to be here in two weeks.:  
  
Gareth sensed a wash of releif as Liara spoke again. :I'm coming now.:  
  
Liara broke the bond and moved carefully out from between the tents. She straigtened up as she got into the open, but saw, to her horror, someone watching her.  
  
He was wearing the blood-red robes of a Voice of Vkandis, and he walked to stand in front of her.  
  
"Well, well." He said softly, a gloating menace in his voice. Liara reached for dagger, but suddenly she found herself immobile. "What's a whore doing here, hiding behind a tent?"  
  
Liara struggled, but to her panic found that she could not move at all. The Voice grabbed her hair and pulled her head back, so Liara had no choice but to look into his eyes. Liara could not supress a flash of enraged recognition as she stared at him. This was Brecke.  
  
Brecke, the wandering witch hunter who had killed her parents, and tried to kill her. Her left hand spasmed as she remembered his sword, polluted like his mind, sliding through it.  
  
"And if it isn't my old friend," Brecke's voice was mocking. "The demon- witch. Well, you may have beaten me last time, demon, but now Vkandis has made me strong!" Liara saw the glaring flame of insanity in his eyes, and she shuddered. "Guards!" Soldiers turned to stare at the tableu. "Have this demon apprehended, and taken before the council of Voices."  
  
*  
  
"She was rescued by one of the Valdemaran horse-demons," Brecke finished. "Perhaps she might be able to share with us some information."  
  
Liara was still fighting against the invisible bonds that held her mind from calling, but when she heard this, she felt sickened.  
  
"I see she is not struggling." Commented someone in a satisfied tone.  
  
"The talisman you provided me with worked splendidly, honoured one." Brecke replied, bowing.  
  
Bowing? But Brecke was a Voice now - who did he need to bow to?  
  
The newcomer entered through the back of the tent, and Liara saw that he was wearing golden robes; it was the Son of the Sun!  
  
"Vkandis has given me great power." The Son of the Sun said. "I can only hope that this God-given gift will allow me to help in the destruction of these demons."  
  
God-given power? Liara would have snorted. There were no Gods. This Son of the Sun must have mage-gift - one of the 'demon' powers he wished to destroy.  
  
"You may take her to the interrogation tent." The Sun of the Sun replied. "And we leave at once, so the - ah - equipment - should be transfered to a wagon. We should get all the information from her that we can."  
  
*  
  
Liara sat in a wash of pain, but she was posessed of one purpose. She would never talk to them.  
  
"Still won't say anything, demon?" That was Brecke - he often visited, seeming to take a macabre pleasure in her torture. "Well, maybe I can help."  
  
Liara stared at him, not grasping what he meant. Then a trendril of thought, like befouled, mouldy water drove implacably into her mind, and she whimpered in pain.  
  
Can't let him see what I know, can't let let him see. If Brecke knew that she had let Valdemar know the battle plans, the plans would change, and Valdemar could fall.  
  
She slapped up shields, dropping the barriers around her mind in order to hide her knowledge.  
  
"Still being stubborn, demon?" sneered Brecke. "Well, I can see all your thoughts . . . and I can make you see them, too."  
  
With that, he hauled the memories out from their coffin, and let them blaze through her mind.  
  
Screams, screams ripping the air, and pain, pain, pain, pain . . .  
  
One thing Liara would never do was let Brecke have the satisfaction of hearing her scream as the pain of the murdered villages tore through her mind. She bit her lip as she struggled to push away the thoughts, until her teeth met through the flesh. The pain felt good, somehow. And Liara knew dimly that she had deteriorated from the healing she had gained.  
  
But now that the pain was back, she couldn't even remember why she had tried to get rid of it. She deserved the pain, and she deserved to die. She could never escape that.  
  
Her mind was smothered, drowning in a sea of foul, mouldy water. Liara slipped away from the blinding, painful daylight, and danced into the dark.  
  
*  
  
"Demon-bitch." said Brecke to himself, glaring at the limp body. "She's dead. Now we won't find out the battle plans." He summoned the torturer back in from the other part of the wagon.  
  
"What shall I do, honoured one?" asked the man nervously. He did not wish to tell the Voices that their prisoner had died.  
  
"Throw her off the wagon." Shrugged Brecke as he left. "This army doesn't need to carry corpses."  
  
*  
  
The army had moved far away before Deilan arived. He pushed at Liara with his nose, but there was no response. Deilan was worried. Liara was not - quite - dead, but she needed a healer very soon.  
  
Deilan concentrated, using all the means at his command to knot the girl's fingers into his mane, and lift her onto his back.  
  
The army were nearly at the Valdemaran border; he would have to hurry. 


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13  
  
*  
  
The Dean was worried. Liara had been due back twelve days ago. For her to be this late, something must have happened. And, as she did not have her whites, the Heralds would not even learn of her death via the Death bell.  
  
Why had he sent her, a trainee, into danger experienced Heralds failed to defeat? She had got information that could save Valdemar - and in fact, probably would in only a few days. But there was one girl who might never return to the colegium, and it would be his fault.  
  
:Chosen!: It was Seren, excited and jubilant. :Deilan is returning!:  
  
Gareth sat up. This was news indeed. :With Liara?: He asked urgently.  
  
There was a pause. :Deilan says yes, but there's something wrong.: Seren's voice faltered, and the Dean felt sure that the 'something wrong' was very serious indeed. :He says that she was about to leave, when she was caught - they tortured her - they wanted to know what she had found out . . .:  
  
Gareth ground his teeth. He could not let sentimentality take away his perspective. :Did she tell them anything?:  
  
:No.: Seren said sadly. :She didn't say anything.:  
  
How many full Heralds could stand twelve days of torture? It seemed that Valdemar owed Liara a great debt.  
  
*  
  
Daven was hurrying to the House of Healing. They had told him 'come back tomorrow' for the past five days, but today he was determined to get in. His companion, Terrisse, had said that Liara hadn't regained consciousness, but he still wanted to see her.  
  
Daven stopped outside the door, and listened intently. He didn't think there was anyone inside, and he pushed the door open.  
  
Liara was lying on the bed. She looked ordinary, like she was asleep, and Daven could see her chest moving. So she was alive.  
  
A green robed man was seated beside the bed. He seemed to be in some sort of trance. Daven crept closer, seeing that the man was holding Liara's left hand. Daven's heart twisted as he remembered the grotesque cut, and how Robern had failed, spectacularly, to heal her.  
  
The Healer looked up, and frowned at Daven.  
  
"How did you get in here?" he asked in exasperation. He seemed familiar with people sneaking in to visit patients.  
  
"What's wrong with her?" asked Daven, voice hushed, and raw-edged with fear.  
  
"She won't wake." Sighed the Healer. "I just finished fixing her hand. Now she's completely healed, but she still won't wake."  
  
Her hand? He was able to fix her hand? Oh, Gods, no . . .  
  
"I . . . have some work to do." Said Daven, not taking his eyes from Liara's face as he left the room.  
  
*  
  
Daven sat in his room, trying to push away his treacherous thoughts, as they relentlessly replayed something she had said.  
  
"No healer can ever do anything with me - and in any case, that cut never could heal. It's there until I die."  
  
The thought burned in his mind.  
  
" . . . there until I die . . . "  
  
Daven tried to deny the fact that Liara was dead, but it was no use. The world was empty without her, just an unceasing round of pointless duties.  
  
His eyes burned. He just wanted to talk to her, tell her that without her, the world was nothing to him, and now he couldn't.  
  
Unless . . .  
  
He didn't even consider Terrisse as he bolted the door and found his knife. She would understand. He barely felt the pain as he slit his wrists, and found weakness filling him.  
  
Liara, I'm coming to you . . .  
  
*  
  
Daven floated in emptiness, surrounded by darkness. He could see the Havens ahead, a bright, glowing promise of peace and joy, and he started forward through the empty dark.  
  
He was moving as fast as his mind could conceive, and he almost missed the flame of despair that hung in the darkness, but it hummed in his mind, impossible to ignore. Daven knew, instinctively, to whom that flame belonged.  
  
Liara!  
  
He threw out lines of power, anchoring himself to her, against the relentless tug of the Havens. He had died to find her; surely he could stay in the emptiness to be with her.  
  
"Daven!" Her voice was a mere suggestion, a wind-blown whisper of what it could be, but it heralded the reunification of a lifebond, as two souls met in an empty Void.  
  
"What happened, Liara?" Daven asked. "You are lying in the healers; you wouldn't wake. I wanted to follow you to the Havens."  
  
Their amorphous forms were solidifying into a sketch of life, and Daven could see that, even here, the wounds had left her hand.  
  
Liara told her story, of her mind being flicked from her still-breathing body with a careless blow of poisonous magic.  
  
"What will we do?" Liara's voice was a wailed whisper. "I cannot go with you to the Havens; I still live! There is no hope, there are no gods to pray to. I found that out a long time ago."  
  
"There is always hope, if you look hard enough." The voice was a whisper and a shout, lightly whispering into their minds, yet strumming a triumphant chord that shook their souls.  
  
A light approached, blindingly pure and white, bringing with it warmth and comfort.  
  
"The Bright Lady," Daven whispered, staring into the glow that hid the Goddess' face. "The keeper of the Havens."  
  
Liara felt shame, and fear, it was overwhelming, choking her. The Goddess would be angry, at her disbelief and anger. The shame and fear were crowding close - but suddenly they were washed away, with comfort and forgiveness.  
  
"We knew your pain," said the Bright Lady, "And we were sorry. But interfering directly with mortal affairs is beyond us. To find our help, one must wander between the worlds, where the gods reside."  
  
Daven stepped forward. "Can you see a solution to our problem, Bright Lady?" He asked respectfully, hope filling his voice.  
  
The Goddess sighed. "Your problem is this: Daven cannot return to the living world, and Liara cannot go to the Havens." She told the two gently. "The solution is this; Liara must return to the living world, and try to heal Daven before he passes over completely."  
  
"How?" asked Liara. She seemed to be succumbing to hopelessness again.  
  
"It will require energy," said the Bright Lady. "But energy is something you have in plenty, my daughter."  
  
Liara seemed confused, but then she realised what the Lady meant. "My elemental magics! They are still with me - I can use them to return to my body!"  
  
"Yes, daughter," agreed the Goddess. "But, once you use it this way, the magic will never return."  
  
"I can do it." Liara declared firmly. "I will do it, Daven."  
  
With that promise, she launched every bit of the power she had. The Bright Lady focused the wild magic, and directed it . . . 


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14  
  
*  
  
Liara woke up, gasping, in a strange bed. The room was obviously in the House of Healing; it was small, white and extremely antiseptic. It also meant that she would have to dodge Healers on her way to the Herald's colegium.  
  
Liara pushed the blankets aside and sat on the edge of the bed before getting to her feet. She tried to walk across the room and stumbled, falling to the floor.  
  
Was the air always this heavy? Were ordinary people as death as this to everything?  
  
Liara could walk across an untidy room in pitch blackness, knowing instinctively were everything was - but now, she was half blind and nearly death. There was no song of sunwarmed stone, no murmur of cloth of joyful, subliminal chatter of running water.  
  
And Liara had work to do.  
  
She pulled herself to her feet, and ran, or at least stumbled quickly, into the corridor.  
  
She hurried to the exterior door, and out into the garden. She was wearing the traditional patient's gown of white linen, and would certainly mark her as a fugitive if she was caught.  
  
She ran across the strip of garden, and into the Herald's colegium. Now, up the stairs, along the corridor - ah, there was Daven's room - and there was a person - a Herald - who had seen her -  
  
Bloody damn!  
  
"Liara!" It was the Dean, and he was obviously very shocked to see her awake. "You were asleep - what are you doing here?"  
  
Liara ground her teeth. What could she say? Get lost, it's a matter of life and death? That would just worry the man. And she certainly could not get rid of him by force; right now, all she had the strength to do was to collapse.  
  
Of course!  
  
Liara smiled secretly as she allowed herself to fall on the floor.  
  
"Oh, no . . ." whispered the Dean. He had no experience with injured people. "A Healer! Quick, a Healer!" He ran towards the House of Healing.  
  
When he was out of sight, Liara scrambled to her feet and went to Daven's door, turning the handle futily. When the door remained firmly closed, tears started in Liara's eyes. She had not counted on the door being locked.  
  
In her frustration, Liara hit the door with her fist. Time had no meaning in the empty Void, but Daven would be very close to death, and every delay took him one step farther away.  
  
:Chosen,: A familiar, and very welcome voice filled her head. :Chosen, I will help you. I have the Fetching gift; I will unbolt the door.:  
  
Liara blessed Deilan. How he had known the circumstances or Liara's predicament, she neither knew, nor cared. She flung the door open, and dropped to her knees beside Daven.  
  
Liara's heart clenched; Daven's skin was a drawn, waxy white, and soaked into the carpet was an alarmingly large bloodstain. Liara grabbed his slit wrists, and noticed to her horrified greif that there was no pulse of blood against her questing fingers: Daven's heart had ceased to beat.  
  
Tears choked Liara, and rose to overflow out of her eyes. The death of her parents, the destruction of her village - even that had not felt like this. She could deny that pain a claim on her heart, but to deny this pain would be to deny the unspoken love that she'd had for Daven.  
  
Liara didn't know how long she had stayed there, clutching Daven's frozen hands, before an uneathly glow filled the room.  
  
"My daughter, I am sorry." It was the Bright Lady, but her blinding light did nothing to ease the ache in Liara's heart. "It is beyond my power to make Daven live again." The Bright Lady leaned closer. "But I can offer you one gift." The glow faded from the Bright Lady's face, and for the first time, Liara could see her eyes. They were a deep, endless silver that caught and held Liara's gaze. "I give you the Void, the Havens, and all the worlds between."  
  
*  
  
Liara stood in a starless emptiness. Daven was opposite her.  
  
"Daven!" Liara cried, throwing herself at him. He was solid, and seemed as alive as her ever had been. "Daven, what's going on?"  
  
He smiled. "This is the final gift of the Bright Lady." He told her. "We can wander all the worlds, as long as we please, and we can be together."  
  
A Companion mare stood behind him. Liara recognized Terrisse, and became aware of a great loss.  
  
"Deilan - " she said in answer to Daven's anxious query. "He's Grove-born. He'll probably Choose again, and I'll never see him again."  
  
:I would never leave you, Chosen.: said a familiar voice. Liara spun around, shocked and delighted to see Deilan behind her.  
  
He was wearing the ornate black and silver saddle he had worn when he Chose her, and Liara leapt into it, seeing that Daven, too, was mounted on Terrisse.  
  
"Let's go!" she called, and the pair laughed as their Companions galloped away, like four children riding away to discover the universe.  
  
THE END 


End file.
